With Minds that Hate
by Swindler
Summary: Eleanor Rose Chaplin is an obsitnate, childish girl living in her own head after her mother's death. When Ellie is dragged to Narnia by a wayward current, she is locked in battle with a country in the midst of revolution to see who will be changed more.
1. Chapter 1

_**Narnia, 1010**_

King Edmund liked the feel of wind on his face. He could never bother with sitting still. There were always better things to be done.

Today was no exception. Although today felt more like he was running than enjoying himself.

Things in Narnia were not all well.

There had been talk of trouble in the Lone Islands. People were disappearing, crops were dying and the citizens were getting restless. He and his siblings were at a loss; they had no explanation for any of it and worse—no solution.

And he himself, well, he was as discontented as his own people. That morning he had snapped at Lucy for knocking the salt over during breakfast.

He nudged his horse, Phillip, with his heels, "Faster," he whispered. The forest grew to a green blur around him.

The cold wind berated his nose and cheeks but still, he wanted to go faster. He wanted to fly. He loved Narnia with all his heart, just as he loved his siblings, but sometimes in the middle of the night he would wake up feeling like something was missing.

He pulled the reigns. "You can stop here, friend," He said.

Edmund enjoyed stopping along the great river to think, to talk. He always felt closer to Aslan in the forest than in the Cair. When he was in the forest, he would speak as if the Great Lion was there and even though Edmund knew Aslan was very far away, he knew, somehow, that Aslan was listening.

Choosing a particularly large rock near to the beach of the river, he sat, unhooking his sword from his belt and laying it next to him. He took a deep breath, savoring the fresh air. It was tinged with the bite of winter. Edmund frowned. His short temper must be a result of the changing season. Winter always put him in a rotten mood; it reminded him of _her; _the White Witch.

It had been years since his betrayal— the betrayal he had been forgiven for. During most of the year the memories of his shame lay hidden, but when winter whistled in it seemed as though ice had scratched them into to the surface of his heart.

The shame was not so acute as it had once been, but it was still fresh enough to anger him.

"Ah, come on, Edmund. Stop being such a little boy." He chided himself. "If you want to be happy, be happy. It's not complicated."

* * *

><p>"I believe, my Queen, that the best course of action would be a swift demonstration of your power. Your reign is still in its youth. A rebellion could be disastrous." The faun advised.<p>

The halls of Cair Paravel were empty, now. The sun was beginning to set and Queen Susan had just received news of a riot in Narrowhaven from one of her informants stationed on Doorn. The uprising was only the latest in a string of reports of civil unrest. Fortunately the governor had been able to calm the masses and they went home without further contest, but Susan knew how dangerously close this episode had brought them to revolution. Something had to be done.

"They have right to be upset." Susan replied to the faun, Rheon, a chief advisor and a particularly opinionated one at that. He had intercepted the swallow sent to warn the Pevensies of the uprising and taken on the responsibility of telling them himself, proceeding to corner Susan who was seeking solace in the library. However, wings being quicker than hooves, the swallow had enough time to warn Susan of Rheon as well as deliver the detailed account of the riot, so by the time Rheon reached the library she was ready.

"The right to be upset perhaps, Queen Susan, but not the right to be upset with you. You are not to be blamed for dying crops or missing persons," Rheon replied, agitated.

"You know well anger is often misplaced in times of tension." She answered evenly.

"Very wise, your majesty." The faun folded his hands, "I have given you my opinion. It is, of course, your choice, however unwise."

Susan pursed her lips, "Faun Rheon, I thank you most sincerely for your sentiments on this matter, but I must remind you that I am not alone in making the decisions for Narnia. I must confer with my siblings before a decision is made, and you can rest assured that we will do what we feel is best for our Kingdom." Susan smoothed her dress, "Now, if you would please go and gather the rest of the advisors, tell them we will meet in one hour in the library's annex. I will find my brothers and sister."

"As you wish, my Queen." He said and bowed.

Susan took a moment to collect herself as she listened to Rheon's retreating hooves hitting the marble floor. Then, with determination she turned and went to find Peter.

He was usually in his rooms as of late no matter how Susan and Edmund tried to coax him out. Lucy was under the impression he was in wistful love with a dryad, but Susan knew better. Peter's life was his family and while nearly every female in the court found him to be incredibly charming, Peter paid them no mind. No, Susan was certain that he was suffering from the same affliction as she: stress. Yes, even the monarchs of Narnia were susceptible.

The Lone Islands were providing quite the conundrum. Out of nowhere kidnappings erupted. At first it was assumed that slavers were involved, but when the Narnian envoy turned up no corrupt market in the Islands the Pevensies were at a loss. No citizen could offer any clues, either. The wives and mothers of those missing would weep into their handkerchiefs while they explained they had neither heard nor seen anything; that people were just being spirited silently away. Then the crops began to die. Again there was no explanation. What should have been a fruitful year had turned to disaster and with winter approaching everyone was frantic for an answer.

And with no answer readily available, the Pevensies were blamed.

Susan raised her fist and knocked sharply at the door to Peter's room. He opened the door almost immediately. His hair was sticking up on one side and his hands were stained with ink. "I've already heard." He said.

"We're meeting in the library annex in an hour. Have you seen Lucy or Edmund?" Susan asked, reaching up to put his hair back into place with her fingers.

He smiled, "Thanks Su. Edmund took Phillip out on a ride probably an hour or so ago and I think Lucy is in the kitchens; something about spoiled milk…"

"Could you go and get her? I'll send Frightfeather to find Ed."

"Yes of course." Peter responded, stepping out and shutting the door behind him.

"In an hour then," Susan said and they split, Peter turning right to go down to the kitchens, Susan turning left towards the stairs to the East tower.

* * *

><p>Phillip whinnied, alerting Edmund that something was approaching.<p>

"What is it?" Edmund asked from where he was laying on the rock.

"Bird." Phillip replied with disdain.

Ed propped himself up on his elbows and squinted. A black raven was circling above at a slightly cockeyed angle. He sighed through his nose, "Frightfeather! Ho, there!" The bird turned its head sharply at the sound of his name and promptly crashed into the branches of a tall tree. "Ah, stupid bird."

When Frightfeather had finally made his bumpy descent he shook his feathers back in to place and spoke, "Your Majesty! Good day! Your sister Queen Susan sent me to find you." He shook his wings out again, several twigs fell out. "There has been a riot in Narrowhaven and your presence is required to discuss options."

"Thank you, Frightfeather." Edmund said, hurriedly strapping his sword to his side. "Phillip!" He called to the horse who had wandered away to give Edmund and the raven privacy and was now chewing contentedly on grass.

He raised his head, "Yes?"

"We need to get back to the Cair." Edmund answered, fumbling with the clasp of his cloak.

"Why? Has Lucy broken another of Susan's Calormen vases?"

Edmund snorted, "Not quite."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Feedback is greatly appreciated! **


	2. Chapter 2

Ellie dipped her toes in the water, admiring the ripples as they lazily spread across the creek. She sucked on the end of her pen, thinking for a moment, then carefully wrote something down in a little green notebook. She hummed a slow song as she wrote, swinging her bare feet in the cool breeze and occasionally stopping to push her unruly hair back. Her shoes lay long forgotten in dirt and her school jacket had been bunched up and thrown carelessly behind her.

"Oh, if Mother could see me now," she whispered to herself in pleasure, studying her bitten fingernails. Her mother had always been Mother; never Mum or Ma, and certainly not Mummy. Proper until her last days she refused, even on her death bed, to be caught with her hair down or her lips un-rouged. Ellie didn't understand the stress of beauty. Why waste time? There were so many better things to do. Ellie's mother used to have to nearly strap her down to scrub the dirt off of her face, or brush her hair, or even to get Ellie to put on her Sunday dress. It was a long process and neither woman came out of it pleased. Perhaps Ellie's mother was a bit self-satisfied, but neither was happy with the other.

Ellie had so much time to herself nowadays. Father didn't care and with Mother gone there was no one to force her to set her hair or nag her when she came home late and filthy, toting that grubby green notebook and leaving muddy shoeprints across Mother's gleaming floor.

Her brown curls she let go (she hadn't had it cut in months) and her whole person had lost the well-cared-for look she once held. Her face was clear, her teeth white and her figure thin, but something about her said, and loudly, that she didn't care.

The Professors at her school had taken notice. They telephoned her father about it (as if he could do anything) and he had attempted an awkward conversation with her that eventually escalated into chilly silence. Ellie was stubborn. She wouldn't be told what to do and she certainly wouldn't allow someone to tell her she wasn't taking care of herself. She would take care of herself in the way that pleased her. Just because her school uniform was rumpled and she had grass stains on her best stockings and her hair was looking a bit shabby and she had lost quite a bit of weight…no! It wasn't their job. They should keep their noses out of her business.

She was 16 after all.

16, but still so much a child.

Ellie lay back on the rock she was perched on, letting her head rest against the school jacket.

Of course Ellie missed her mother. She was only 16—she still needed someone, but Ellie really hadn't the energy to mourn. She sort of turned in on herself instead, losing the few friends she had in the process. Ellie didn't care. She had more important things to worry about.

She wasn't entirely sure what though.


End file.
